


Before We Were Legends

by Winterstar



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Canon minor character deaths, Cap-IronMan Tiny Reverse Bang, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-powered but powered, Not superheroes, Romance, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 10:12:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4300824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterstar/pseuds/Winterstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year ago, Tony's life changed when he and his parents were in a car accident. It left him orphaned, scarred, and somehow transformed. What happens next changes everything....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before We Were Legends

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for the Cap/IM Tiny RBB. Code Name: BREAKOUT
> 
> Link to art can be found [here](http://onebilliondelights.tumblr.com/post/122404968680/my-submission-for-the-capim-tinybang-the-keyword)
> 
> Go there and like and reblog the wonderful art!

Hunched over his tray of a scone and coffee, he catches sight of the scruffy jeans with holes in places that indicate they weren't bought in that manner. The guy stands there - apparently waiting for Tony to tell him to bugger off again.

"What are you waiting for, leave me alone," Tony says and further crouches lower over his meal. He should have gone to the chic coffee house down the street, but this one gives him the anonymity he longs for, and he actually does like the coffee and occasionally a dried scone.

"There aren't any other open tables."

Tony glances around the nearly empty cafe. Since the named coffee shop opened up last year, this one has been left to the flies and the urchins of the world, which this guy is. Tony looks up at him, he's all of thirteen and probably sent here on an errand from the local high school seniors or some shit. Tony throws the pieces of his craptastic scone aside and says, "Yeah I see that."

The guy gets a point for not blanching at Tony when he sees the scar crossing over Tony's face, the white of his cornea that makes him mostly blind in his left eye. Instead, the guy places his tray on the table and sits down. Tony practically growls at him.

"What the hell," Tony says and points to the rest of the tables.

"I get it, I know," the guy says and his thin rail shoulders jitter, but not like he's frightened, more like he's about to take flight. "Let me just sit here for a minute. No skin off your nose, right?"

"I don't need to get into the damned hazing events from your stupid high school. Now get out," Tony says.

The kid grunts at him. “I’m not in high school. I’m in college.”

Just as he's about to protest the guy's obvious hearing deficient because he won't get up, the door to the cafe opens and four thugs walk in - one of them Tony recognizes. He's Rumlow - the ex-cornerback from the local college football team. He doesn't give a shit, because it has nothing to do with MIT. Everyone in town knows about Rumlow though, he’s the star cornerback who ended up kicked out of school because he’s not a angel and does some fairly horrible things to women on a regular basis. It’s all over the social media sites and everyone has been talking about it for weeks. Tony cannot escape it. 

Rumlow spots the kid across from Tony and marches over to him. "You want to play that game, little slut? I told you, you're coming with me."

The kid steels himself and then turns to face his tormentor. "Brock, I left you. You do understand that. I left. I'm gone, I'm not coming back."

Rumlow advances on the kid and Tony - being the ass that he can be sometimes - gets up and steps in front of the kid who looks like he could get knocked over by a stiff wind. "He's with me, now."

"With you?" Rumlow snorts and slaps one of his buddies on the shoulder. "Look the cockslut's with Mufasa."

The three other idiots laugh and spit on the floor much to the consternation of the little old fellow, Erskine, who owns the tiny cafe. The place may be a dive, but Tony doesn't like bullies. Apparently, the little guy Tony decided on a whim to defend, doesn't either, because he jumps up and pushes his way forward to order, "Apologize for spitting on the floor, you -." He mutters and chokes on the swear word before he settles on - "jerk."

Brock's idiot friends, probably part of the football team, mock the twig and then Tony catches it, glimpses the bruise on the kid's wrist, like he's been held and hurt. Tony's not a big guy either, he's small for being a graduate student because he's only just turned eighteen. He's sick to death of having idiots like this beat on smaller guys. It only takes an instant and his hands hot and dry. Before Tony knows what's happening, a concussive force throws the thugs in a jumble of arms and legs into the few empty tables scattered around the cafe. Tony only stands there, his empty hands up and in front of the kid, protecting him.

"What the hell?" Brock shouts, but picks himself up and scrambles to retreat. "You'll get yours, Mufasa." The four idiots leave the shop.

He knows he has to face the music now, someone's seen him, someone else knows. He turns to look at the kid, and the old man. The old man only nods, begins to sweep the floor again, and whistles as if he understands everything that's happening to Tony. The kid - well, he's another story. His eyes are as huge as wagon wheels. But instead of fear, there's wonder and acceptance in them. He grasps Tony's arm and tugs him to sit at the table again.

"I didn't think, there's anymore like us," the kid says and Tony thinks maybe, just maybe the kid might have something wrong with him. “But I knew it, I knew it about you.”

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"When did it start?" the kid asks.

"Listen, I don't even know your name. You can just back off."

"Steve, Steve Rogers-."

"Well, Steve, Steve Rogers, I think you need to make yourself scarce now that your former abusive boyfriend has been handed his ass on a plate. I suggest somewhere far away." Tony says and sips his coffee. It's cold and he doesn't care. He still has tons of schematics to get through before he goes back to lab.

"He's not my boyfriend," Steve says. "He really never was."

Not only does this pique Tony's interest, it pisses him off. "Okay, I'll bite. What gives?"

Now the kid decides to clam up and Tony has no amount of patience to deal with this crap. "You either tell me or get out. I'm working." He taps the tablet on the table.

"Okay, okay," Steve says and shrugs his angular shoulders. "Brock liked it rough. I didn't. I was never his boyfriend. But he treated me like his possession."

"Why?" Tony says.

"You ever hear of a 084?" Steve asks and leans into the table. The little old man is only smiling at them as if they are a romantic couple.

"No, what's a 084?" Tony whispers, because, sure he'll take the bait, and sure he'll bite because crap he does not have tons to do to get ready for his doctoral thesis committee meeting - not at all.

"It's what you are now," Steve says. He gestures to Tony's hands. "How'd it start?"

"Oh, we're going there are we?" Tony huffs. "Sure you want to know. Okay, a little less than a year ago, my parents and I are out. We're going to some holiday party or some shit. And bam, someone tries to run us of the road. We're not unaccustomed to attempts to kidnap us or kill us - considering. But this was blatant. Our driver, Jarvis, tried to correct, but the assassin shot him in the head. The car flipped over. Both my parents were killed and I survived with this little token. Call me Scarface or Scar." Under his breath he mutters, "Not Musfasa, you fuckers."

"The assassin didn't try and kill you?"

"He tried, but as soon as he came close, I put my hands up and there you go. Like a repulsor beam or something. He must have flown about 75 to 100 feet in the air. I passed out after that, ended up in the hospital. Blind in one eye and a scar."

Steve stares down at the table, drawing figure 8s or infinity signs on the table top. "But you're not blind are you?"

Tony sighs. "Are you some government dweeb?"

"No, but I'm closer to you than you think," Steve says. "I'm a 084, too. Except I heal. Amazingly well."

"Well, you don't look it." Tony says as he takes in the scraped knuckles, the old yellow and green bruising around his eyes and wrists.

"These bruises are only a day old."

"What?" Tony isn't a med student but he's smart enough to know that those bruises look at least 6 to 7 days old, at the very least.

"I heal and Brock, he found out about it. Likes to experiment, the dick."

"What the fuck, did he actually, has he actually tried to hurt you just to find out what happens?" Tony says and his mouth goes dry, his hands heat up. He rubs them together to dissipate the heat.

"Something like that," Steve says. He raises a hand to Tony. "Now, tell me what you see with that eye."

Tony considers the empty cafe, the little old man who is conspicuously absent. "Yeah, I see futures? I think? I can see consequences of actions. Not all the time but it looks like echoes of the future."

"Yep, you are most definitely a 084. You have to stick with me now."

Tony thinks he's a little weary of all the funky crap today. He pinches the bridge of his nose and says, "And why would I do that, little man?"

"Don't call names, that's not nice."

“Great, now I’m stuck with a grandma,” Tony says and stands up. He throws a few bucks on the table as he gathers his leather messenger bag, stuffs it with his tablet, and his papers. “Look, Steve, if that’s even your name, I’m not here for you to recruit for your weird boys band initiative or what not. I’m late and I have to get back to my lab.”

“Boys’ band?” Steve says and hustles behind him. Tony notes he nods to the little old man which rings all kinds of alarm bells in Tony’s head.

“How long have you been following me?” Tony asks and grabs the handle of the shop door, swings it open, and steps out into the cold winter day to head back to his lab on campus.

“Not exactly following you,” Steve says and shifts the huge, overly stuffed backpack on his shoulder. “Hey, wait up, you’re going too fast.”

Tony stops, spins around as foot traffic bumps into them and he growls. “Kid, get it through your head. Whatever agency or police force or new rag you come from, I don’t want any part of it. You pay off Rumlow to come beat on you or something?”

“What?” Steve says and runs a hand through his hair. It sticks up at all angles and he frowns. “Come on, I’m not lying about this stuff. My friend, Skye hacked into this site on line.”

“That’s it,” Tony says. “You are definitely, fed, I mean no one says hack anymore.”

“No?” Steve honestly frowns and tries to work it out, before he looks at Tony and says, “What do they call it then?”

“Fuck, why is this my life?” He whips around and starts to cross the street, but as he steps out Steve seizes him and yanks him back to the curb. A car whizzes by – it must have been in Tony’s blind spot. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Steve replies and coughs. “Can we get out of the cold and talk? It’s not good for my asthma.”

“I don’t fucking believe I’m doing this,” Tony says. “Let me call my lab. Jane or Reed might be there.” He digs out his phone and realizes his hands are shaking from his close call. He tells himself he’s hanging with this freak kid because – shit, he just rescued him from certain death. Right? “Hey, yeah, you at the lab?” Luckily he connected with Jane which is world’s better than Reed, Reed is an asswipe. “Can you check my simulation? Send me the data?”

Jane isn’t happy, she’s doing some fairly complicated work right now on worm holes and tunnels through space or some crap. “Yeah, sure. But you owe me.”

“Thanks, doll.”

“Call me doll again and I’ll make sure you’re anatomically like a Ken doll the next time I see you.”

“Always a charmer.”

“Yep, bye Tony.”

He disconnects and then turns to find the kid staring at him. Steve’s lips are faintly blue and he’s shivering. Tony thinks he might be about to keel over. “Are you dying or something?”

“No, just cold and my asthma isn’t exactly controlled on the shit medicine they let me have with the student insurance.”

“Okay, okay, come on,” Tony says and leads him to his loft. It isn’t as nice as Tony can afford, being the one and only heir to the Stark fortune. Tony rented the space more for the ground level where he can work on his cars and play mechanic when lab and theories and green energy gives him a headache and an ulcer all at once. The loft is only around the corner from the little café and he directs Steve to the side alley door where they can bypass the garage and Tony’s cars for the stairs. 

One flight up and Tony thinks he might be killing the kid. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, good, don’t worry about it.”

“I thought you had some magical healing power?”

“I do,” Steve says and hangs onto the metal railing. “Can we have this conversation when we get to your flat?” 

Tony grouses, but continues up the next flight. By the time they get there, Steve’s heaving but slaps Tony away from him. He falls into Tony’s sofa – it’s ratty and has the ugliest print around – and pulls out his rescue inhaler. It takes more than two puffs to calm his attack, but Tony doesn’t say anything.

“You want a beer?” He goes to the small kitchenette at the corner of the wide open loft. There are no walls except for the small corner bathroom in the apartment. 

“No, thanks.”

“Can you even drink beer?” Tony says and hands him one anyway. 

Steve takes the beer without complaint and asks, “Can you?”

“Touche,” Tony says and they clink their bottles before he sits across from Steve, eyes him. “Tell me what a 084 is.”

“Skye hacked in when she found out about my healing.” 

“And this healing, how’d it come about?” Whoever Skye is, but Tony’s ignoring that missing piece of information right now.

“It happened when I was in high school,” Steve says and lifts his shoulder. “I nearly died a few years ago from a really bad lung infection. After that, I ended up healing after injuries – really quickly. When Skye found out, she went all bonkers on me and had to start looking things up online.”

“And this 084 stuff?” Tony says.

“It means something unexplained, an object or person that cannot be explained. Seems some people, after they suffer a traumatic event, or a near death event, whatever you want to call it activate something in – they turn into special people,” Steve says. He reclines on the couch; the colors from the bruises on his face have cleared, only the slightest tinge is still there. 

“Where’d the term come from?” Tony asks.

“Not sure,” Steve says. “Skye can’t figure that part out.” 

 

“You know anyone else like us?” Tony asks. 

“Nope,” Steve replies with a shrug of his shoulders. “I suspected you, because you kind of started to drift away from the headlines. Hiding out in lab, stopped flirting with everyone.”

“Wait, you followed me? Watched me?” Tony had thought he’d been careful. There had been a few incidents, muggings, and paparazzi. He’d tried to make sure no one found out about it.

“Everyone knows Tony Stark, I just happened to watched a little closer, observed a little more than the average person.”

“You know that’s creepy right?”

Steve only plays with the label on the beer that he picks up. “Yeah, but I had to find someone else, someone else like me.”

“You seem to have it handled, except for the Rumlow guy.” Tony considers and then furrows his brow. “Rumlow called you a few very specific names. He didn’t – should I call the police?”

Steve puts up his one hand and shakes his head. “No, he might have eventually. But mainly he just liked to use me as a punching bag and see how long it took to clear up. This last time, he had me in his apartment for three days. I thought I was going to die.”

“What the fuck?” Tony says and his hands warm again, they itch with anger and frustration.

“You know your one good eye glows when you start charging up your hands,” Steve says and points to his face.

“Jesus, does it?” Tony cages his face with his hands, peering through his fingers to assess Steve. There’s an innocence and a plain and pathetic trusting nature about the guy that draws Tony to him. He should really kick him out and get back to lab, but Tony has to admit, he’s been trying to figure out what the hell happened since the assassination of his parents. 

“Don’t do that,” Steve says and gently pulls his hands away from his face. “I know it’s all weird and everything, but I’m kind of glad I found you.”

“Yeah?” Tony says and gets up from the equally ratty chair. He could afford so much better especially since he kicked Stane to the curb and hired Virginia Potts to convert the company to a green energy one instead of a weapon’s factory. He walks to the kitchenette, he feels like his skin is too tight, that he needs to get rid of the energy flowing into his hands.

“You okay?”

“No, not really,” Tony says. “This Rumlow dude, I mean, how’d you get mixed up with him?”

“He asked me out on a date,” Steve says. “I know I was stupid to accept. Like what would a guy like him have any interest in me, right?”

“Huh?” Tony says, even though Steve’s thin and nearly a head shorter than Tony – who is not tall by any measurement – Steve’s possesses a classic, almost 19th century beauty. He doesn’t understand how Steve cannot see it; he reminds Tony of a Maxfield Parrish painting. His mother used to love those paintings in the hallway of their mansion on 5th Avenue. 

“Yeah, so I went out with him. He liked to fool around a lot. I’m not a slut or anything,” Steve rushes through the explanation which Tony thinks is missing a lot of details. “But he plied me with a lot of sweet talk and not a lot of guys are interested in someone they can step on – except for Brock. He likes to do things rough. I didn’t – you know. But he liked to rough things up, and wrestle and stuff. That’s how he figured out that I healed amazingly well.” He pauses. “He might be a little sadistic.”

“Ya think?” Tony says. “Fuck, are you this naïve all the time?”

“No,” Steve says. “I’m not stupid. I broke up with him because I’m not interested in getting beat up, you know.” 

“Okay, okay,” Tony says and surrenders. He’s not going to go all ape shit over it, but the more he thinks about the little Steve’s told him so far, the hotter his hands get. “You know, you’re causing me an awful lot of trouble.”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Steve says. “I only showed up because I wanted to see if my theory about you was true.”

“Well, it is now what?”

“Chinese?”

“No, not even close,” Tony says and then flinches. “Oh, you want to eat?”

“Yeah, you want to order in, I have a few bucks.” He starts sifting through his overcoat that’s two sizes too big on him.

“Jesus, I’ll order and pay. You do know I am Tony Stark, not some pretender right?” Tony says and reaches for his phone in his back pocket. He orders a couple of different selections from his favorite takeout and delivery place. The kid looks like he hasn’t eaten in a week. When he hangs up, he finds that Steve’s drifted over to his work bench he has set up near the bed. He’s picking up different pieces and examining them.

Considering Steve, Tony has to decide what to do with the urchin. “So you want to tell me what the whole big point is?”

“I didn’t really have a plan, or anything,” Steve says. His hands are in his overcoat pockets now. “I figured once I introduced myself, we could plan it out from there.”

“Plan what?” And what the hell? _WE?_

Steve stops and turns to face Tony. “It doesn’t seem strange to you that any of this happened. That you can shoot force fields from your hands-.”

“Don’t forget the laser beam thing, too,” Tony supplies and crosses his arms over his chest. “Was it a coincidence that you decided to look me up today, and Rumlow was after you, or did you plan it that way.”

“Lucky happenstance. I’ve been checking you out for a while, but then found out Rumlow was tracking me. So I had to think fast.” 

Tony accept the explanation for what it is. This kid could be someone Stane sent to spy on him, or another Federal agent, or just a kid from the community college. “How old are you?”

“Why is that even relevant?”

“Because I want to know if I just served beer to a minor.”

“You didn’t, I happen to be twenty-one,” Steve says. “I’m a junior at Fine Arts.”

“Shit, you don’t look your age at all.” The kid is older than Tony. He smirks. “You could buy me beer.”

“I could, doesn’t mean I’m going to.”

Tony laughs. “You know I’m buying you dinner, you could be grateful.”

“I’m just grateful you got Brock off my case, I didn’t need to spend another few days getting the crap beat out of me.” Steve says.

“You could call the police.”

Steve pulls off his coat and throws it onto the bench. “What am I supposed to do when they notice the bruises disappear at alarming rates?”

“I see your point,” Tony says. “So this Skye person tell you anything else about 084s?”

“Not much, she couldn’t find out a lot, but we’re not the only ones,” Steve answers. He’s playing with a casing Tony designed for a miniature reactor. “There’s a guy out there – some scientist who apparently turns into a huge green rage monster.”

Tony snorts. “You’re are fucking kidding me.”

“Nope, I don’t know if it’s true or not,” Steve says. “There’s also some other guy who can call lightning or something. It’s weird.”

“Is it all guys?”

“Nope, there’s some info that says there’s a few women with powers, or whatever you want to call it,” Steve says. “I’m just thinking if someone’s taking the time to categorize us.”

“Then someone’s noticed,” Tony hisses. The doorbell buzzes. “That’s the food.” 

**oOo**

Tony’s not sure how it all happens, but that’s the first of many meals he ends up sharing with Steve. After the first evening, and their revelation that someone out there might be trying to hunt them down, there’s an unspoken agreement between them to stay close, check in, and cover each other’s asses. They spend a good amount of time in each other’s space and face. Enough that when Steve’s not at the loft, Tony worries about him. 

If Steve doesn’t check in at the lab after he’s finished classes, Tony texts him. It’s usually short and sweet, but Steve always ends up answering with a cheerful emoticon or a quick quip that always puts a smile on Tony’s face. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You know I’m happy, I really am that you’ve seem to have turned the corner.”

Engrossed in the latest software upgrade for his computer system he’s building to help him sort out the green energy problem, Tony only grunts his reply to Rhodey.

“Seriously, I hear that he’s kind of cute, but in a sickly way. But if that’s what floats your boat.”

Tony grimaces and turns to Rhodey. He’s in his ROTC uniform, he looks delicious but he’s not in Tony’s playbook, unfortunately. Rhodes is hundred and twenty percent hetero. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Jane said you have a little boyfriend.”

He rolls his eyes. “Little boyfriend. Are you a toddler?”

“Okay, okay, I just heard that you had a boyfriend, and I’m happy. Can’t a guy be happy for his friend? I mean since the accident-.”

“I told you like I told the police, it wasn’t an accident.”

Rhodes immediately backtracks. “After the assassination of your parents, I really worried about you. You kind of lost yourself, cocooned yourself.”

“Yeah,” Tony says. He knows he’s agreeing, but it isn’t like Rhodey is wrong. Finding out you can manipulate forces with your hands changes a guy. “Kind of.”

“And this guy? What’s his name?”

Tony stops and looks at Rhodey. He’s ROTC, does that mean he’s a Fed? Does it mean Tony can’t trust him anymore? “Why do you ask?”

Rhodey only shrugs. “I don’t know. I heard you were dating.”

“I’m not dating. I’m friending.”

“What does that even mean?” Rhodey asks. “Are you Facebook friends?”

“Are you my grandfather? Shit, I am not on Facebook, you old man.” Tony throws in the towel for the day. It’s too much code and his eyes are going bleary. “He’s just a friend.”

“If you say so,” Rhodey says as he starts for the door. “We on for the weekend, or no?”

“Let me get back to you, okay? I’m trying to set up the simulation this week. If I get this version done, I might be in for a long haul,” Tony says.

“You know I hear you talking and all I actually hear is wah wah wah-.”

“Shut up, Mister Summa Cum Laude,” Tony says and flings a wrench at Rhodey, who deftly dodges it and then exits. 

Before Tony’s able to focus back on the lines of code, the door opens again and Steve steps into the lab space. “Where the hell have you be-.” There’s a mat of blood on the side of Steve’s head, more leaking out of his nose, and his knuckles are wrecked. “What the hell happened to you?” 

Steve tries to sniffle but that only causes the blood to run faster down his face. “Would you believe me if I told you I fell off the side of a building?”

Tony hurries to the sink and pulls some paper towels. He wets them with cold water and goes to Steve. Guiding him to a stool, he sets him down and dabs at the gash on Steve’s head. It’s already closing up.

“What really happened?”

“I think someone’s on to us,” Steve answers as he tilts his head back. Tony places a cold paper towel on the bridge of Steve’s nose. 

“Who?”

“Don’t really know, but this guy Hodge goaded me into a fight,” Steve says and drifts to the side a little. His sense of balance is shitty on good days. 

“Whoa there,” Tony says and holds him up. “Anyone can goad you into a fight. What happened?”

“That girl Peggy from England I told you about-.”

“The one you were sweet on as you put it, you old man. Yeah I remember.” The bleeding stopped and the head wound looks better already. 

“She’s sweet on Angie, you know. Anyhow, I found out he was talking trash about her so I told him to stop.”

“How is that goading you into a fight?” Tony says. “I understand it’s pretty crappy to do, but how does that specifically goad you into a fight.”

Steve clams up, again. It’s a habit.

“Steve?”

“Okay, okay, he started saying crappy things about you,” Steve says and takes the paper towel from Tony. He wipes at his nose. “I told him to stop. We got in a fight, and I think someone took pictures.”

“Pictures?”

“Well everything ends up on you tube these days,” Steve says. 

“If someone did record it, all they’re going to see is you getting your ass beat,” Tony says and Steve hops down from the stool. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Steve says but there’s a distant look to his expression. “He kept saying things though. Like why don’t you get your boyfriend to come down here? He said something about Rumlow and what happened at the café.” 

“Hodge is just an ass, don’t worry about him,” Tony says. “We’re fine, really. We’re good.”

“You think so?” Steve says and Tony notices for the first time their hands are clasped together. He doesn’t want to part, he holds on tighter. 

“Yeah, actually I think we’re more than fine,” Tony says and he closes the small gap between them. He fits perfectly with Steve, the tilt of their heads, the soft touch of their lips, and then the stronger, firmer press of their kiss as they both realize it’s happening. Tony grasps Steve to him, tastes the metal of blood and the faint tang of coffee on Steve’s lips, he slides a foot between Steve’s legs and glides his arm around his waist. 

They’re holding onto one another, searching and tasting. Tony doesn’t want to let go, he wants it to last, but then there’s the sound of someone clearing their throat. Both Tony and Steve jump and part as if they’ve done something wrong. They haven’t – they’re allowed. 

Jane stands there with her giggling assistant, Darcy. “Told you.”

Jane huffs and says, “Are you making out now or going home?”

“Going home,” Tony says and grabs his scarf, jacket, messenger bag, and phone. “Don’t call me if the lab blows up.”

Darcy giggles again as Jane says, “Don’t plan to.”

Tugging Steve after him, Tony leads the way out of the lab and toward his loft. They barely get in the door, before Steve sets on him again. The remnants of his beating faded, Steve claws away Tony’s clothes and his own before they even make it to the bed. They tumble to the large bed, the one piece of furnishing in the whole of the loft that Tony actually spent a great deal of money on, especially the linens and bedding. 

“Do you have anything?” Steve asks as they break away, breathless from their kissing.

“Yeah, drawer next to the headboard,” Tony says and he stretches over to rummage through it. He finds the condoms and the lube. Tossing it on the pillow, he reaches for Steve again. His hands are hot and vibrating. 

“You feel so good,” Steve says. “Touch me again.” Tony caresses Steve along his arms, his flank, and down to cup his ass. He groans in response arching into Tony’s touch. 

“I want to touch you all over, is that okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says and lays back on the bed. 

Soon, Tony’s exploring Steve’s entire body. His hands, his transformed hands, set fire to Steve’s flesh, enhancing the simple experience of touch. “What does it feel like?”

Steve opens his dilated eyes, his lids are heavy and his words almost slurred with desire. “Hot, warm, not burning. Feels like your touching my nerves but in a good way. Feels like fire but in a good way. You’re reverberating throughout my body. God,” Steve says and twists against the tide of need. “More Tony, more.”

Steve’s legs drop open and Tony finds the lube, smears it on and begins to prepare him. The feel and push in are wonderful and Steve urges him to continue. He’s hard and needy and fisting his hands in the sheets. 

“Good, that’s so good, Tony,” Steve says. “Feels like fucking lightning. God, more of that.”

Tony hits Steve’s sweet spot and he kicks out, nearly smacking Tony off the bed. After what seems like forever and Steve’s continued cries that he’s ready, Tony pulls out, cleans his hand and snaps open the condom. He rolls it on and positions himself. Steve is nearly crazy for Tony.

“Need more, need you to touch me, please,” Steve says. As soon as Tony breaches him, Steve wraps his legs around Tony and draws him close. It sends shock waves through both of them as Steve cries out as he pushes and Tony sobs a curse. 

Bracing himself on either side of Steve, Tony begins a rhythm, he wants to be gentle and soft but he cannot control his need, his want. It eats him like a fire and every nerve ending is scorching him from the inside. He feels lust and longing and hunger and there is no such thing as control. He’s slamming into Steve, chanting his name over and again. Steve grapples and clutches onto his own erection, stroking frantically with Tony’s pace. The thrusting becomes more erratic, more crazed as the heated mass of need burns and he lets the fire take over, lets it consume him and he pitches into it, into the flames, not caring if the conflagration devours him. His climax seizes him, stills him into a paralysis of bliss. He feels Steve follow him there, feels the constriction, the spasms, and then they plummet together, wasted and broken.

"That was lovely," Steve says and rasps as he falls down on to the cocoon of blankets and pillows. 

"Lovely? You dork, I was looking for something more like mind blowing, fantastic," Tony pants as he tries to catch his breath. His hand drops down on the scars along his own chest, over his heart, a reminder of the car accident or assassination of his parents. His fingers line the ridges of his scars and then he reaches up to touch his face, cupping it, hiding his marred beauty. 

“Okay, okay, it was absolutely mind blowing, great, wonderful, what else am I supposed to use?” Steve flips over him, bringing his hand down. “Hey, what's going on?” 

Turning slightly away, Tony only lifts a shoulder, upsetting but not dislodging Steve. He gazes out toward the city, to the brick and mortar, the foundations of strength and power. “It doesn't bother you?”

“What? I don't understand, what?” Steve says and tangles his fingers in Tony’s hair. “Tell me?”

“The scars. I'm not all that beautiful, you know.”

Steve guffaws and then shakes his head as if he's exasperated with Tony. “Seriously? And I am? The whole hundred pounds of me? No, I find you not only handsome but a work of art. If you want to know, I've been dreaming about you since that first day in the café.”

Tony hauls himself up on elbows, this time successfully displacing Steve. “Really, man, You have a warped sense of beauty. “

“Who is the Fine Arts major, you can't question my aesthetics.” Steve throws his body back onto Tony’s; it feel comfortable and right. “Plus, don't stamp all over my first time, I'd like to cherish the memory. Thank you very much.”

“Okay,” Tony says and then his brain catches up. “Wait, what? That was your first time! Holy shit. I should have. Crap, you -.”

Steve leans up and places his fingers on Tony’s lips to quiet him. “Take a breath, big boy. I'm fine. You did magnificently if the ache in my ass means anything to you.”

Tony grasps Steve’s wrist, holds him. “You're okay? The first time and your first time should mean something, right. And most don't just jump to penetrative stuff right away.”

“How do you know?” Steve curls up on top of Tony who has dropped down back onto the bed. He starts to line the scarring on Tony's chest. 

“How do I? Oh, well, this wasn't my first time around the block, loverboy,” Tony says and hopes to hell Steve doesn't take it the wrong way. 

“Oh, then did it? Was it okay? Was I okay?” Steve asks and his voice is softer, almost a whisper

“Babe, you did great,” Tony says and Steve continues to draw circles around Tony’s heart. “I thought you might have fooled around with Rumlow.”

Steve glances up at him and then settles back where he belongs, looping long fingers around Tony’s scar. “Not much and not all the way. I was waiting.”

“For what?”

“The right partner.”

Tony smiles as Steve draws the infinity sign on his chest. “That kind of tickles.”

“It's warm, like your hands, I can feel the energy there.” He places his palm flat over Tony’s chest. 

“Really?” Tony felt it before, but ignores it most of the time. It's an ever present pulse of life in the center of his chest as if he has a portal, or a netted ball of energy alive in the hollow of his chest, under his breastbone where his heart should be. “It's been like that since I woke up in the hospital.”

“I can feel it. It relaxes me, I like it,” Steve cuddles into the notch of Tony's shoulder. He yawns. “Can we sleep now?”

“I think so, loverboy,” Tony says but cannot help to think that he very nearly walked out on Steve in that café all those weeks ago. 

**oOo**  
They become inseparable. Tony cannot believe it, especially since he lived his life after his parents died a year ago as a recluse in the lab or at his loft. He practically never interacted with people unless they happened to be a lab mate or an old friend. Rhodey may be right, Tony might have fallen head over heels for the skinny guy with the jaw of a superhero and the eyes of an angel. 

Rhodey laughs at him when he tries to explain the attraction. “You don't have to try and figure it out. It's all from the soul, my man.”

Tony frowns. “It's chemical and you know it. But yeah, it is.” He tries not to sound dreamy about Steve but that is nearly impossible. The guy is his dream. 

On days when his schedule doesn't conflict, Steve shows up at the lab with sandwiches wrapped in wax paper like he's from the 40s and lays out a little dish towel on the lab bench for them to eat. He even brings juice boxes so Tony isn't tanked on coffee and Skittles all the time. 

He likes to be around Steve, even though they spend a lot of time debating. It surprises him how well rounded, intelligent, and educated Steve is. 

One Sunday as they are lying in bed, Tony with his tablet perched on his bent legs and Steve with a sketch pad thrown to the side, Tony asks him about it. “Public schools, then?”

“All the way through in Brooklyn. We couldn't afford anything else,” Steve says. He's lying on his back, arm cast over his head and eyes drooping. They just finished a long wake up session of lovemaking (and yes, Tony calls it that in his head), and Steve looks totally debached and satiated at the same time. 

“You know a lot for a public school kid,” Tony says to which Steve screws up his face.

He throws his arm down and glares Tony. “Public schools aren't wastelands you know. Some very smart people have been educated by public schools.”

Tony winces. “You're right, sorry. It's just you seem so well rounded. You know about a ton of different subjects.”

Steve turns on his side and snuggles against Tony’s hip. With that action, Tony cards his fingers through Steve’s mussed hair. “I read a lot, still do. But I was sick a lot as a kid. Spent tons of time indoors and in bed. It was either television which I find so bland or reading. So I read. Everything I could get my hands on.”

“It paid off, you're in a great program, you’re smart and beautiful,” Tony says as he slides down. “How'd I get so lucky?”

“Wouldn't you like to know,” Steve says and they share a kiss. Tony's used to hurried, hungry kisses, kissing as a prelude to fucking. But with Steve it is never about that, it's always about discovery, or exploration, or unity. It's about something more than the physical. He cannot believe how much his life has changed in a short period of a dozen weeks. 

“Don't leave me, Steve, never leave me.”

Steve smiles and it’s boyish and impish and all kinds of dirty. “Never gonna leave you.”

Later, Tony believes it's because of his blind spot where Steve is concerned that things happen, that Tony’s not ready, that they don't prepare for someone to come after them. It's the next day when it happens. Steve doesn't show up with lunch, but that's not a surprise on Mondays. Sometimes Steve works at the Museum on campus and he gets the hours at the last minute. Even though Tony insists he doesn't have to work, because 1) Tony is a billionaire; 2) Steve has de facto moved into the loft; and 3) no boyfriend of Tony’s is ever going to want for anything. And by boyfriend Tony means Steve and always Steve in his head. He doesn't say this to Steve, because Steve would make his fussy face and walk out anyhow. 

It's not a surprise when Steve doesn’t show for lunch, when he's absent for dinner, things get dicey. Tony enters the loft, searching and calling for Steve. “Honey bunny I'm home.” 

Steve isn't there and it sends a strange ache through Tony’s chest. Fishing out his phone, he sends a quick text to Steve.

_Honey Bunny, Im home_

After ten minutes and there’s no answer, Tony starts wondering if he messed up Steve’s schedule. He walks to the kitchenette and finds the sheet of paper Steve insisted on taping to the fridge with his class and work schedule. Tony glances at his phone to check the time. Nope, Steve’s not working and doesn’t have an evening class. But he might have ended up with pick up hours at the Museum. Tony shrugs. But the ache persists.

He tries to go about his business, but when Steve’s not in the loft Tony usually flees to the lab. He only comes home on a regular basis now to be around Steve. His hands feel sweaty and his chest stings with heat. 

He tries to text again. _Honey Bunny still looking for a good time_

When there’s no response, he decides it might be a good idea to spend some time binge watching shows. He snaps on Parks and Rec and watches five episodes before he emerges for air. It’s dark and cold out, and Steve’s not home. Tony isn’t hungry but he figures Steve might like something to eat, eventually. He orders from the pizzeria down the street. He orders two pies, breadsticks, and wings. For a skinny ass, Steve eats a ton.

Thirty five minutes later, Tony pays the delivery guy, tips him well and sets the pies on the counter. He decides now might be a good time to try and conjure up one of Steve’s friends to find out what’s going on. The ever elusive Skye is still elusive but he does manage to get in touch with Sam.

“Do you know where he is?”

“Last I saw him he was headed home. Said something about it being your three month anniversary?” 

“Shit? What?” Tony says and nearly swallows his tongue. What if Steve is off buying him some expensive gift or some shit? “Damn it.”

Sam snickers. “No, sorry, he didn’t. Said he was going home. Nothing about any anniversary.”

Tony places a hand on his chest and gulps for air. “Man, do not do that to me.”

“Seriously, dude, you got it bad. But no, Stevie hasn’t shown his skinny ass around here since this afternoon.”

“Okay, thanks, maybe he picked up hours at the Museum.”

“Maybe,” Sam says and they hang up. 

Tony stands in the middle of his loft, hands in pockets, and glares at the pizzas as if he’s accusing them of some hideous plan to hide his boyfriend. He tears into the first pie with relish. He’s angry, more so at Steve than anyone. He could at least call and say he’s going to be late. Tony doesn’t care that he sounds like a petulant boyfriend. He’s worried. As he finishes his first slice, the phone chirps at him.

“Ah, the prodigal son,” Tony says with a twist of his lips. He scoops up the phone and turns it to see the screen. He gags.

There’s a picture – a photograph of Steve. He’s hanging by his bond hands in what Tony can only surmise is a meat locker. His clothes are shredded, there’s a pool of blood under him. 

The message is clear without the words, but there are words.

_How long can he bleed like a stuck pig until he dies I wonder_

With hands trembling, Tony tries to put in his code to open the phone. It takes two tries. He tries to write a message back. It takes one.

_I will kill you_

The answer is immediate. _You can try_

Another photograph and this one is of Steve’s face. It’s wrecked, a ruin of cuts and slashes as if someone took a knife to it. Tony fumbles with the phone, his anger and fear mixing into a toxic brew. He staggers over to the sink and pukes up his dinner. Blinking, he hits the message and types.

_I will kill you slowly_

_I get it youll kill me. You want him alive come now and bring cash one million_

Idiot, Tony thinks. How can the kidnapper think that Tony has one million in cash laying around his loft? Whomever this is, he isn’t a professional. That means, Tony can take him; that means Tony has the advantage. He fists his hands and then texts.

_where_

The answer is immediate. It isn’t far, only a few blocks away. There’s a time listed as well, but he doesn’t care. He grabs a set of keys and races for the stairs. Downstairs in his garage, he jumps into the SUV and flips the switch to open the doors. It only takes seconds to get on the street and down the block. He’ll be there in minutes. Minutes until he finds Steve. He tries not to think of the blood pooling under Steve, or the cuts all over his face, or how long he could possibly have been hanging there, being beaten over and again while Tony watched television. 

He slams his hand on the steering wheel, jerks a little to the side and has to right the vehicle. It doesn’t take long before he approaches the tiny butcher’s shop. He gags again but is able to choke down his bile. Parking across and down the street, Tony leaves the keys in the SUV and follows the shadows to the building. 

Who the hell has Steve and why? That’s the first order of business. They know people have been asking about them, watching them. But who?

He gets to the butcher’s shop, peers in the window, and then scouts around the back of the building. He finds a door, tries it, and it’s open. He waits for a moment to see if he was noticed, and he wasn’t. He slips inside the back and goes toward the front, where he hears voices.

“I don’t give a crap. If that fucker Pierce doesn’t give us a good amount of cash for these two, I’ll kill them myself.”

It’s Rumlow. Tony should have guessed. He doesn’t have any idea who Pierce might be. So he ignores that bit of information and scans the area in the front of the shop from his kneeling position the behind the counter. 

Rumlow’s alone, but he’s on the phone. Tony checks his watch, their appointed time is in ten minutes. He spins around and looks for the meat locker. Finding it, he pops open the door and hurries to find Steve at the end of a long line of sides of beef. He’s hanging from a hook, there are slashes and stab wounds all over his body. There’s one rod still sticking in his belly, where all the blood runs a river down to the floor. 

“God damn it, Steve,” Tony says and rushes to him. “Jesus, what did he do, what did he do?”

Steve isn’t conscious, not immediately, and Tony is blessedly thankful for that. He checks the bindings around Steve’s hands. They are smeared with blood. The ropes are crude and it will take too long to get them untied. The best thing to do would be to lift Steve and unhook him. Tony searches around and finds a stool and some knives on the steel table to the door. All of the knives are stained with blood, and Tony realizes it is probably Steve’s. He blanches but continues his task.

He brings the stool over to Steve and, as he climbs up, Steve wakes up. 

His words are as mutilated as his features. “T-n-ie.”

“Yeah, okay, shush,” Tony says and saws through the ropes. 

“Bbee, o h kay.”

“Sure, sure,” Tony says and grabs a hand around Steve’s waist as he makes the final cut through the rope. Steve’s drops from the hook, all limbs and loose into Tony’s arms.

“How romantic, his prince come to save him,” Rumlow says. “But you’re too late, because the dragon’s already here.”

Tony slowly and gently puts Steve down onto the floor. The puddle of blood is large and ugly, but Tony avoids looking at it. The rod is still in Steve as he leaks blood down the long shaft. When Tony stands up he is confronted not only by Rumlow, but a man in a suit, a very expensive suit.

The man smiles at him and it feels fake, the lines of his face tell of a time he had been handsome, maybe even charming. That time is long gone. “Son, we don’t have to do this the hard way.”

“I don’t know about you, but I think that’s already been decided,” Tony says and his palms itch.

“We’ll get your friend help, we’ll get things done correctly. I apologize for my associate.”

“You associate with a one time college cornerback that got kicked out of school for beating on female students. Seems you need to re-evaluate your company,” Tony says and tries not to let the cold of the room get to him. He squeezes his hands closed, feeling the heat rising.

“You may be right, but he was a means to an end,” the man says. He puts his hand in his jacket, takes out a Glock firearm and fires point blank at Rumlow’s temple. The man drops in a heap, the blood splatter hits the man’s face but he’s unfazed. Brain matter sprays across the ceiling and wall.

Tony puts up his hands to protect Steve. The man smiles, and chuckles a little.

“Messy,” he says. He takes out a kerchief and wipes away the blood. “I’m Alexander. I’d like to help you and your friend.”

“I don’t think I want your kind of help.”

“I think you do, I think you have developed a certain talent, a power shall we say,” Alexander says. “I think I can help you with that. Rumlow told me about your friend. His ability to heal, and he mentioned your powers as well.” He never drops the gun as he stuffs the stained kerchief back into his inside jacket pocket.

“I don’t know who you are, but I like to judge people by the characters they chose to hang out with, and you are not rated very high right now,” Tony says and waits as his hands warm against the ice cold of the freezer. At his feet, Steve judders against the temperature.

“He was a means to an end,” Alexander says. “I would very much like to help you, I would very much not like to test how far that healing ability goes with your friend.”

“I would very much like you to get out of my damned way.” Tony says. 

“That’s not going to happen, son. I can shoot him or you before you can even defend yourself.”

“Are you so sure?” Tony says and the heat blasts from his hands. The force blows Alexander out of the door of the meat locker and across the room. With little time to spare, Tony gathers Steve in his arms.

“No,” Steve says. “Wait.” He grasps the rod and, before Tony can stop him, yanks it out with a howl. Blood spills from him in a wave. 

“Jesus,” Tony says, his vision blurs from the tears. 

“Tony, go, go,” Steve says and his voice sounds wretched. 

“No,” Tony replies and cradles Steve in his arms, struggling to climb to his feet. Holding Steve, Tony marches out of the locker only to find the man, Alexander, righting himself – the Glock clutched in his hand. 

“I’ll kill him before you can drop him and hit me again.” The gun points right at Steve’s head.

“No, you won’t.” The anger, the rage boils over but there’s no way for Tony to lay Steve down, there’s no way for him to release Steve and fight at the same time. His hands are his weapons, and he’s crippled without them.

“This time, son, you’re going to listen to me. You’re going to carry your friend out to the car waiting in the alley. You’re going to put him in, and then you are going to follow him into the car. After that, we’ll take a nice ride down to Hydra’s lab.”

“Hydra,” Tony whispers. The heat, the flare of anger burns brightly in his chest. 

The Glock aims. “Do you think he’ll heal from a bullet to the brain? You see, I don’t really need him alive to analyze his DNA and get what I need. I would very much like for you to be alive. So I’m willing to compromise if I have to.”

The click of the gun and Tony screams, “Fuck you.”

A beam of light, searing and brilliant, burst from Tony’s chest. The impact flashes white and blinding. Tony staggers, only holding on with what little power is left in his body as the dazzling white beam of energy fades and dissipates. There’s a hole in his shirt, his chest is burnt black from the beam, but Tony’s fine. Their assailant is nothing but blackened ash on the floor of the butcher’s shop.

Stumbling away from the mess, Tony carries Steve close to his chest. Tears blind him and his one eye – his sightless eye glitters with possibilities of the future. He tries to ignore it, as he makes his way out into the alley before he’s confronted by another man in a suit. 

The man holds up empty hands and says, “Wait. I’m Agent Coulson from SHIELD. I’m here to help you.”

“I don’t know any shield, I don’t know who you are,” Tony says. 

“But you know who I am,” Rhodey steps out of the shadows. “Go with the man, Tony. It will be okay.”

He nearly drops his precious bundle as he collapses onto the ground, but Rhodey saves them both.

**oOo**

“I don’t know, I think I would have liked to finish off my semester,” Steve says with hands in his pockets. He’s standing at the open doors of the balcony. His skin is tanned and gleaming in the sun as the ocean hits the beach.

“What you don’t like Tahiti?” Tony says and rolls over on the bed. He’s been completely debached by Steve. He smiles as his sightless eye dances with possibilities of their future together. It has been surprisingly active since their night at the butcher’s shop.

“Oh, it’s a magical place,” Steve says, and then crawls up the bed to kiss Tony thoroughly on the mouth. He breaks their kiss and says, “I don’t know, I would have preferred finishing up my degree.”

“We’ll still get a chance,” Tony says with a shrug. “We will.”

“Once SHIELD has cleaned up their house, sure. But we know about all these secret government organizations now and how Hydra never went away. I was supposed to be a plain old college student with asthma with a thing for the hot engineering grad student.”

Tony laughs. “Yeah, and I was supposed to be the engineering student trying to finish his thesis while I moon after the hot little artist from the café.”

“How’d that work out for you?”

Tony smiles and cups his hand along Steve’s jaw. His face is perfect again, the healing factor worked its wonders. There’s a slight, almost imperceptible scar along his jaw to his cheek bone. It’s different than the one along Tony’s face, but the same in many ways. “I think it worked out just fine, thank you, just fine.”

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> A kudo or a comment would be most pleasing to the author. Feed the poor starving author, please?
> 
> I wrote this in 2 days between doing stuff at work! So I hope it makes sense and you like it!


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